Honesty
by frostygossamer
Summary: Dean and Honesty have been hunting the supernatural together since forever. But who is that handsome hunk in his dreams? N.B. NOT a Dean/OFC, not slash just some confusion and brotherly love. COMPLETE
1. Dream Guy

Summary: Dean and Honesty have been hunting the supernatural together since forever. But who is that handsome hunk in his dreams? N.B. NOT a Dean/OFC.

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Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, its fandom, its characters or anything connected to them. I do not make money or profit in any way from this story.

A/N: I've recently got myself a Twitter account, frostygossamer. I'm using it to tweet some 140 character microfiction daily-ish. Mostly Supernatural plus some Merlin, Sherlock and Doctor Who. Why don't you give it a look and follow me?

A/N: BTW This story is NOT wincest, in case you're wondering, just a bit of confusion and brotherly H/C.

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Honesty (Part 1: Dream Guy) by frostygossamer

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Week 1: Maine

It had been snowing for four days. Dean had dug the Impala out of a snowdrift twice already and he had had enough. This little poltergeist case had turned out to be a bigger pain in the ass than they had expected. What had looked like a couple days excursion to Maine had turned into a week in a snow globe.

Dean threw his shovel back in the trunk petulantly. The sooner they were out of there and headed south the better. When he got back in the car, slamming the door, Honesty was hunched over a cup of hot soup. She waved the thermos at him.

"Wanna cup, Sweet Cheeks?" she asked. "Chicken noodle?"

Dean shook his head. He needed something stronger. "Gimme a shot."

The tall, busty redhead grinned and threw him the bottle of Jack. Dean pulled off the cap and took a hearty swig.

"You?" he asked, waving the bottle at her.

Honesty grinned, indicating her cup. "Think I'm taking this neat?"

Dean sighed and replaced the bottle of whiskey in the glovebox.

"OK," he said. "Let's get this show on the road. If we're not done by midnight, gonna walk out in the blizzard till I white-out for good."

"Oh yeah?" his companion snickered. "Jeez, freakin' drama queen."

~o~O~o~

The poltergeist-infested house was an historic three-story edifice, which had recently been converted from a working farmhouse to a luxury vacation home, for some city kid with too much spare cash. They had cleared out the livestock and the farm machinery, but somehow they had overlooked the farmyard pookie.

The thing had gotten used to being paid in fresh cream for its little bit of help around the cow byre. Since conversion, it had felt neglected and had begun running around the young professional's pad, switching lights and faucets on and off, moving things around and making scary night-time noises.

It took Honesty ten minutes to locate the poltergeist. She seemed to have an unerring nose for these things. Dean tried not to look impressed.

"There's an old boarded-up well out back," she said, pulling on her fire-proof gauntlets and lighting up the blowtorch. "Looks like the poltergoose is holed up down there. Boy, is it in for one big surprise!"

Dean was always one for pouring on a good dose of lighter fuel and then tossing in a lighted match from a safe distance, a tried and tested method. Honesty liked her immolations to be more hands-on.

As Dean waited outside the barn, salt-round loaded, shotgun cocked, he listened to the racket that emanated from within with some irritation, as Honesty tackled the cornered 'geist.

Why did the redhead always make the job seem like some kind of competitive one-on-one sport? This was supposed to be a 'pest control' operation. You were NOT supposed to enjoy it.

Honesty emerged after a couple minutes, carrying the blowtorch in one hand and a scrap of squirming ectoplasm in the other. She unceremoniously tossed the ectoplasm on the dirt at Dean's feet, where it writhed pathetically.

"Saved you some, Precious," she sniggered, a newly lit cigarillo hanging from the corner of her mouth.

Dean rolled his eyes and blasted the fugly with a salt-round, causing it to vaporize in a wisp of blue smoke, soon blown away by the wind.

"Dunno why you gotta do that, Hon," he complained. "Just ice the freakin' thing and go. Don't FOOL with it, woman."

"Oh, come on. That's half the FUN," the redhead declared, pulling off her gauntlets, the torch stuffed under her arm as she stomped back to the Impala. "Got the job done, didn't I? Now you don't gotta go lose yourself in the blizzard, huh?"

Dean uncocked the shotgun, and shook his head as he followed her back to the Impala. No matter how many years he travelled with this woman, he was NEVER going to figure her out.

~o~O~o~

Dean was a hunter. He travelled the highways of the USA laying ghosts, killing monsters and saving people. He had been doing this his whole life, and he was damn good at it. It was a tough life and a hard one, and it would have been one damn lonely life if it wasn't for a tall, wise-cracking headache of a female hunter named Honesty.

Yes, it was a weird-ass name, Dean had to agree, and he had no idea how she had ended up part of his life. She always seemed to have been there, riding in the shotgun seat of his Impala, sleeping in the bed farthest from the motel room door, sitting across from him in the diner booth, perched on the stool next to him at the bar. Like now.

"Daydreaming again, Deano," Honesty drawled, when she noticed Dean staring blankly into his beer.

Dean snapped out of his reverie and slapped on a cheesy grin.

"Thinking 'bout the job," he explained.

"Uh-huh?" Honesty responded suspiciously. "Well, I'm ready to hit the horse chow, buddy."

Dean nodded. "Me too, I guess," he agreed.

~o~O~o~

Dean paid their bar tab, and they walked back to their motel room. Honesty bagged first shower, while Dean lay on his bed and waited for his turn. When he got inside the bathroom he looked around and sighed. The place was a mess as usual.

He had never known a woman who could wreck a bathroom the way Honesty could. There were puddles and suds everywhere, hardly any hot water left, and the only dry towel was the one he had hidden earlier. Yeah, he knew what she was like.

After a quick, tepid splash he turned off the water and stood listening. Outside in the main room, he could hear the usual grunting and growling Honesty produced whenever she got changed. What a woman, huh? He pulled on his night things and waited until silence fell before exiting the bathroom.

Honesty was tucked up in her bed, already fast asleep. Dean could tell that from the even rise and fall of her breathing, and the noise of her raucous snoring. He picked up some items of his companion's discarded clothing, which were strewn all over the floor. He threw them in a corner with a muttered curse, before climbing into his own bed and flicking off the light on the nightstand.

Dean sighed, stretched and closed his eyes gratefully. Another day over, another supernatural pest ganked, another job done. And now sleep, and whatever dreams may come.

And dream he did.

~o~O~o~

Dean was laying in a darkened room. Not the motel room now, it was a dark and echoing room full of hard surfaces and sharp edges. He was laying on a slab, a tombstone maybe, or perhaps a really unforgiving army cot. His ankles were lashed tight. He couldn't move his feet, and his arms were strapped to his sides the way they restrained lunatics in an old fashioned asylum. No stress!

Suddenly he heard a door scrape open behind him and someone, or some thing, entered the room. He froze. Unable to see who, or what, was approaching him he decided it was safest to keep his eyes hooded and play possum.

A switch clicked and a central bare bulb flickered into illumination. The visitor hove into his line of sight on his left-hand side. All he could see, silhouetted against the harsh light, was that it was tall, freakishly tall, and vaguely man-shaped.

It bent toward him and he felt its hot breath on his face as it examined him.

"You awake, Dean?" it whispered in a voice that sounded human, deep, soft and distinctly male.

Dean tried to shallow his breathing, tried to seem not awake.

The thing took a step back and surveyed him. Dean could now see that it was a guy, probably over six feet, well-built, shaggy hair. He was completely unfamiliar, although strikingly handsome, something Dean wouldn't normally notice about a guy.

"Dude, I can see you watching me," the guy said, smiling faintly.

~o~O~o~

Dean woke up to the pleasure of Honesty shaking him violently by the shoulders. When his eyes snapped open, she grinned at him warmly.

"Hey there, Sleeping Beauty, time to get up and take me for breakfast. I could eat a raw grizzly bear."

He didn't doubt that. Dean ran his hands over his face and through his hair, chasing away the last remnants of sleep.

"OK, OK! Keep your freakin' shirt on, woman."

Dean dressed hastily and stumbled with his duffel out to the car, where Honesty was already sitting pumping on the horn impatiently.

"Where'd you wanna go?" he asked, as he slid into the driver's seat.

"Point me toward some fried pig and I'll be happy," she replied, licking her lips.

~o~O~o~

They stopped at the first greasy diner they came too. Honesty ordered the Hungry Man Special and practically every side on the menu, excepting the salad, plus a mug of night watchman's strong brewed coffee. Dean ordered a simple ham and eggs with a small regular coffee. When the food came, Honesty eyed his order with a smirk.

"Watching your figure, Princess?" she snarked, as she piled up her plate with sides and dug in.

Dean rolled his eyes and sneered. "Carry on shovelling in that way, and pretty soon the Impala's whole freakin' suspension's gonna need replacing."

Honesty scoffed. "Ain't polite to comment on a lady's weight, smart-ass."

"Ain't polite to eat like a hog, lady," Dean retorted, with a grin.

Truth was, Dean could have eaten more if he hadn't had to watch Honesty at the trough. The woman's eating habits tended to turn even his once robust stomach. And yet, Dean reasoned, she must have had hollow legs, because her figure was perfect.

When she had cleared her plate, the redhead wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, swigged the last of her joe and belched.

"Why, pardon me, honey," she apologized, belatedly.

Dean pushed away his small plate, shaking his head, and stood up from the table. Honesty rose from her chair rubbing her full stomach.

"Gonna take a whiz," she announced, delicately. "Meet you at the car."

When she had gone, Dean took out his wallet and tossed some bills on the table, then he walked outside to the Impala. He slid into the driver's seat, leaned his head back and closed his eyes with a sigh. Honesty always took an age in the restroom.

~o~O~o~

Dean was in that dimly lit room again. As his vision focussed he became aware that that same guy was sitting on a chair by his feet, elbows resting on his knees, just staring at him. The guy smiled when he saw Dean was awake.

"How you doing there?" he asked affably.

Dean wondered about that. How and what was he doing? Dreaming, he guessed.

The big guy stood and took a couple steps toward Dean's head. Dean flinched, as much as the straps tying him to the bed would allow.

"Easy, dude," the guy whispered, like he was addressing a nervy horse. "Lemme take a look."

The stranger carefully eased up the dressing on Dean's chest. Dean noticed, for the first time, that a large bandage covered his right pectoral muscle. He gritted his teeth against the pain, as the guy inhaled sharply through his teeth.

"Sheesh! Still not healing too fast, man," he said. "But at least the infection has cleared up some."

He smoothed the medical tape back down and retreated a step.

"How'd you feel?" he asked, a sympathetic expression on his face.

~o~O~o~

Right at that moment, Honesty appeared at the driver's side window and poked Dean in the shoulder with a scarlet-enamelled index finger, rousing him out of his daydream.

"Sleeping on the job again, Deano?" she asked, grinning happily.

"We're not 'on the job'," Dean retorted.

"That's what YOU think," Honesty said, throwing a copy of the local paper in his lap.

He picked it up and surveyed the page she had turned it to. Ghost haunting in Boston.

"Beantown, Hon?" he protested.

"You wanted to drive south," she returned, with a chuckle. "Massachusetts is nice this time of year."

Dean sighed and started up the engine.

"Boston it is then," he agreed, as they pulled away.

~o~O~o~

They got a room in a half-decent motel on the outskirts of Boston and hit the nearest bar. They hustled pool a while, but gave up when the marks started to get suspicious, and sat in a booth killing time.

Honesty was idly using a straw to chase an olive around a garish cocktail some hopeless guy had bought her. Dean was nursing his third beer. Suddenly Honesty picked the olive out of her drink and flicked it at Dean's head.

"Reckon we should go after the sucker right this minute," she declared.

"You've gotta be pulling my chain," Dean retorted. "It's after midnight already. What I need now is some shut-eye. We can gank the freakin' 'sucker' tomorrow."

"Hell no," Honesty insisted. "We zap it's ass tonight, we can be back on the road before dawn."

Dean sighed. He had been totally ready to flake out in his motel bed, he felt so damn beat. But when Honesty got like this there was no use in arguing with her.

"OK, Hon," he said. "Lemme grab an hour, and we can hit the highway."

~o~O~o~

They went back to their motel and Dean collapsed on his bed, always the one nearest the door, fully clothed, passing out as soon as his nose hit the comforter.

Barely an hour later Honesty shook him awake. She was armed and ready to go.

"Hi there, Sleepyhead," she sang out. "Time we hit the boneyard, Deanie-boy."

Honesty seemed to be full of Boston beans as they headed out in the Impala. Dean didn't know how the woman could be so up all the time on so little rest. She was wearing him thin.

As they drove out to the graveyard, Dean mused on the few seconds of dreamtime he had managed to snag back at the motel.

~o~O~o~

His eyes had snapped open in that darkroom again, to find the big guy hovering with his face inches from Dean's.

"He's awake," the guy informed someone standing behind Dean's head, out of eyesight.

The guy studied his face intently, for a few more seconds, then pulled back.

"He's awake but I dunno if he's 'home'," he corrected himself.

Dean pulled on his restraints ineffectually. The guy put a surprisingly gentle hand on his arm.

"Hey there. It's OK," he said. "You're safe now, Dean."

He smiled what looked like a sincere smile, showing a couple real cute dimples.

TBC

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A/N: I hasten to say this is not a self-insertion ;) nor is Honesty a Mary-Sue. I'm sure you've worked out who the cute guy is, even if Dean hasn't. More tomorrow.


	2. In and Out

Honesty (Part 2: In and Out) by frostygossamer

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As he drove them out to the supposedly haunted graveyard in the Impala, Dean thought over his recent dream time, and the unfamiliar and yet strangely friendly guy with the cute dimples.

"Cute dimples?" he thought.

Hell, what kind of a thing was that to be thinking about some strange guy?

"Reckon this thing could be a ghoul," Honesty cut into his thoughts.

"Thought they said it was a ghost," Dean pointed out. "What it says in the paper."

"Could be. But the papers call every damn thing a ghost," the redhead asserted. "'Cause civilians don't believe there's anything out there with more muscle than Casper," she chuckled. "Those white-sheets ain't no kinda sport, Sugarplum. Wandering around going 'Woo Woo'? Crap! Need me some grisly monster to stomp on."

Dean groaned. This woman had a bloodthirsty streak for fuglies a mile wide.

"Sure, Hon," he said. "If it's a ghoul it's yours, OK?"

Honesty chuckled. "If it turns out some pantywaist pixie, I'll know who to sent it to, sissy-ass."

~o~O~o~

Week 2: Massachusetts

It WAS a ghoul. And Honesty whopped its ass good.

Dean kept his eyes on the road as he drove them out of town. The woman was insufferable when she was right. And he still hadn't forgiven her for that 'sissy-ass' jibe. No one called Dean a goddamn sissy-ass!

Honesty must have known that Dean was just as much a chick magnet as she was a guy magnet. Yeah, Dean was straight as a pin, despite the fact that he had taken to dreaming about some tall, handsome, dimple-faced hunk for no apparent reason whatso-freakin'-ever.

They pulled over at an all-night diner in the middle of nowhere, so that Honesty could use the restroom. Dean ordered a couple coffees and a couple big slices of deep-dish apple pie to go. They sat and devoured them in the Impala.

"Freakin' ditchwater," Honesty griped, after two gargantuan gulps of her brew. "Put out a couple coffin nails in this, it could only make it taste BETTER."

Dean smirked as he shovelled in his pie.

"Tastes better mixed with applesauce," he commented.

Honesty rolled down the window and tipped her cup out in the snow.

"Wanna go nightclubbing," she exclaimed, out of nowhere.

Dean almost choked on his pie. "You gotta be crazy, lady," he stammered. "It's gotta be two in the freakin' a.m."

Honesty turned and eyed him contemptuously. "You know what? You got NO stamina, Deano. The night is young. You think like an old guy."

Dean finished up his meal and flung the cardboard empties on the backseat.

"Yeah," he said. "But I'm the old guy with the car keys. And this baby's taking me straight to the next motel with a bed for the night. Deal with it."

Honesty grouched in the seat beside him all the way to the first motel sign, through the neon-lit office, where they refused the clerk's offer of a king-size, and into the shabby little room.

Dean grabbed the first shower. He was in no mood to defer to the redhead tonight. And he plunged into bed while Honesty was still cursing and slinging things in the bathroom. The descent into sleep was blissful.

~o~O~o~

The room was black this time. So dark it seemed to press against Dean's eyeballs. He lay for a few minutes, listening to the sound of his breathing and his rapidly accelerating heartbeat. Finally he couldn't stand it anymore.

He cried out into the darkness, "Mommmmmmmmmmm!"

Yeah, he knew that was a pretty childish thing to yell. But what else are you supposed to yell in a dream? It seemed like the obvious thing.

Immediately he heard a scuffling of footsteps. Then the door behind him opened, letting in a little faint light from outside the room. He could hear the muffled conversation of two people. Two males.

"He hollered, you say?"

"Yeah, boy, he hollered. That's what I said."

"And he hollered 'Mom'? You sure?"

"Yep."

Pause.

"'Mom'? Really? Dean?"

"Now would I make THAT up, ya idjit?"

The tall guy appeared at Dean's elbow, a faint grin on his face that he was obviously fighting to suppress.

"Hi there, Dean. Sorry, dude, I was catching a few zees. Thought you were still out."

He patted Dean's forearm reassuringly. "Whaddya need?"

Dean turned his head and stared at the patting hand until the guy removed it.

"W-water," he murmured. Suddenly his mouth felt dry as the Mojave.

"Water? OK," the guy agreed. "We'll get you some water, man. You hungry? Maybe you wanna sammich too?"

Dean thought about it. Actually he did feel real hungry, which was weird seeing as he had eaten only recently. He nodded.

Tall guy muttered with his friend in the doorway and then returned to draw up a chair by Dean's side. Turning it around he straddled it, leaning his arms on the back. He gave Dean a warm smile.

"Whaddya remember about what happened, Dean?" he asked. "Anything?"

"Remember?" Dean wondered.

What the hell was this guy talking about? Remember what? He stared at the guy for a long moment.

"Where is this place?" he asked.

"Where? The panic room, dude," the guy replied, like it was obvious.

Dean wasn't any the wiser.

His next question was, "And who the hell are YOU?"

~o~O~o~

Dean woke up as the first rays of dawn found his face. Honesty had flung back the drapes and was busy preening in the bathroom. Dean would have guessed she had been in there all night, except for her bed being all mussed up.

The woman's off-key warbling assaulted his ears. Gloria Gaynor, volume turned up to eleven.

"For crap's sake, Hon, tone down the disco, would ya?" he shouted.

The redhead stuck her head around the door, grinning cheesily.

"That, Deanetta, is a CLASSIC," she reprimanded him. "Deal."

She disappeared back inside, where she commenced gargling like a drain.

Dean rolled his eyes and climbed out of bed. He fumbled in his duffel and dry-swallowed two Tylenol. Today was one of those days when it would pay to be pre-medicated.

He flopped on one of the chairs beside the little table. But, before he could even get comfy, Honesty was steaming out of the bathroom, grabbing her bag and heading out to the Impala.

"Get that pert little ass in gear, Fluff-for-brains," she jested, before she slammed the door. "The open road is a-callin'."

~o~O~o~

Incubi were something Honesty dreamed about. Not literally, although Dean wouldn't have been surprised. But in Honesty's book there weren't nearly enough of the damn things. Honesty loved to get to grips with an honest-to-God man-nightmare. Incubi preyed on women, true, but any incubus stupid enough to try preying on Honesty was going to get preyed. Honesty ate incubi for breakfast.

In a hotel someplace in Rhode Island, they tracked one down that had been predating female guests off and on for a decade. It had finally met its match.

Dean didn't mind being thrown out of bed by the EMF discharge. What he objected to was the half hour of disgusting sexual noises that he had been forced to listen to BEFORE the ill-fated incubus got itself ganked.

He would have intervened sooner, only he had assumed Honesty had dragged some relatively innocent guy back from a bar. He had reckoned it was diplomatic to pretend to be dead asleep. If he had known it was an evil spirit his partner was jazzing the life out of, he would have ended it by putting the sorry thing out of its misery himself.

"For the love of crap, Hon," he bitched, picking himself up off of the floor. "One of these days you're gonna get one too big to handle."

Honesty sprawled naked on her bed grinning, only a thin motel sheet wrapped around her curvaceous form.

"Gimme my purse, Deano," she chuckled. "Need me a smoke."

~o~O~o~

Week 3: New Hampshire

Since entering the Granite State, Dean hadn't slept more than an hour at a time in three days. And there had been no dreams. He didn't know whether to be glad or sad.

Honesty and Dean walked into a luncheonette one morning for a late breakfast. It was almost noon and he hadn't said a word since dawn, still nursing an attitude over his companion's cavalier approach to hunting.

They sat down in a booth and Honesty ordered large. Dean, as usual these days, was to tired to feel hungry. He tuned out the redhead's bitchy critique of their waitress' rear silhouette and scanned the diner's clientele.

His eyes went straight to a tall guy sitting with his back to them, in the booth farthest from the door. He looked strangely familiar. Kind of like the guy in his dreams. Dean watched him order lunch, Cobb salad and a glass of milk. Something inside him gave a twinge.

Honesty glanced up from her plate and followed his eyes.

"See something you like?" she chuckled.

Dean tore his eyes away and growled. "Sometimes, Hon, I..." he warned.

He sneaked a quick glance back at the guy, who turned his head. He was wearing a full beard. The illusion shattered, Dean sighed.

"Babe, you got it bad," Honesty snickered.

Dean snorted.

~o~O~o~

As they left the diner, Dean was struck in the face by a piece of wind-blown trash. He was about to throw in a trashcan, when he noticed it was a have-you-seen flyer for two local men, missing without trace since Friday the 13th.

"Look interesting?" Honesty asked.

"Maybe," he answered.

Dean let the redhead drive for once, not usual for him, because, for some reason, he felt the need to chase his dreams in the passenger seat.

~o~O~o~

"Sam," the guy said, continuing Dean's last dream where he left off.

"And that's the real Sam, by the way, case you were wondering," he added amiably.

Dean's expression remained blank. Sam? Name didn't mean a damn thing to him.

'Sam' seemed to pick up on the blank expression.

"Dude, your brother..." he began.

The blank stare and total absence of recognition disturbed him.

"Brother?" Dean interrupted. "Man, I got no brother. Anyone tell you he's my brother, he's a damn liar."

Sam flinched. "Oh yeah?"

"Uh-huh," Dean affirmed irritably.

Sam wanted to disabuse him, but Dean seemed so sure of himself he hesitated. If Dean didn't know him, it wouldn't help to come across as some kind of impostor.

He fidgeted uneasily in his chair and asked, "So how much DO you remember?"

~o~O~o~

The bartender was busy wiping up the bar when Dean and Honesty walked in his establishment. He was a tall, bald, muscular stud, and Honesty's eyes lit right up. They chose two stools at the bar, and Honesty wasted no time getting to know him.

"Hi there, baby," she drawled, winking suggestively. "Got a minute for little ol' me?"

The guy put down his bar rag and came on over.

"What can I get you, honey?" he asked, with a professional smile.

"Straight up Jack, darlin'," she purred, eyeing his crotch. "Straight as a tent pole."

The guy turned to Dean. "And what's your poison, pal?"

"Same," Dean answered. "Only without the innuendo."

The guy chuckled as he poured their drinks and put them on the bar. Dean shot Honesty a disapproving look as she continued to eye the barman's muscles. Mind on the job, lady.

"Like to ask you a couple questions," Dean went on, "about those guys, Able and Pye, who turned up missing last week. They drink in here?"

"Sure they used to drink here," the guy replied. "Who wants to know?"

"Private investigators," Dean answered, waving a fake PI license under the guy's nose. "We were hired by their families."

With Honesty in this mood there was no way they would pass for FBI.

"Uh-huh?" the bartender responded. "Well, they WERE regulars."

"Any talk going 'round about what happened? Anything not in the papers?" Dean probed.

The guy considered. "Only thing I have is... You know those guys worked as handymen? Casual cash-only manual stuff, some yard work, a little demolition, that kinda thing."

"Yep, we already got that," Dean responded tiredly.

He had read all that in the newspaper article.

"Well, I heard that sometimes they used to dump building waste and crap illegally up in Darkunder Wood. Has a reputation as haunted. Kids' tales, yeah? Otherwise they were pretty straight up, no enemies, no debts."

Dean's interest was piqued. "Darkunder Wood? And where exactly is that?"

"Maybe six miles north of here. When I was a kid used to be stories it was cursed, whatever. Nothing there really. Just kids' stuff."

Dean looked at Honesty, who was still staring at the guy moony-eyed. He kicked her in the shin. The redhead yelped in pain, rubbing her ankle theatrically.

"C'mon," he hissed. "We're gonna haul ass up to this Darkunder Wood. Check it out."

"Still early," Honesty replied, holding her empty glass out to the barman for a refill.

"BEFORE midnight," Dean insisted.

"And catch the fuglies napping? How unsportsmanlike," Honesty commented, with a smirk.

Dean slipped off his barstool and headed for the door.

"TODAY!" he insisted gruffly, over his shoulder.

~o~O~o~

Darkunder Wood was cold, dark, damp and primevally old. But it really didn't feel cursed, or even particularly spooky, to someone like Dean, who had had experience of these things. It seemed like an average wood, trees, underbrush, a few squirrels, nothing sinister. Dean's EMF meter registered nothing but normal background.

"Not a damn thing, Hon," Dean concluded disappointedly. "Looks like we wasted twelve miles worth of gas."

Honesty snickered. "And to think I left a perfectly good hunk of beefcake back there for this."

Dean got back in the Impala and flung the EMF meter in the glovebox.

"May as well go back to the motel," he remarked.

Honesty, who was sitting on the car's hood, narrowed her eyes as she stared farther up the track that had led them into the forest.

"You see what I see?" she asked.

Dean switched on the Impala's headlights, and noticed for the first time the outline of the front end of a flatbed truck. It was almost out of sight, just off of the track a couple hundred yards ahead of them. He grabbed his handgun and Honesty's and got back out the car.

"Let's go investigate," he suggested.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Honesty's having fun and Dean's getting a little confused. More tomorrow.


	3. Black Coffee and Pastrami

A/N: FF reckons I've had a fat zero UK readers on chapter 2, which is a little odd. Didn't think chapter 1 was THAT bad. :( Still, thanks anyone else who is still reading. Here goes chapter 3...

* * *

Honesty (Part 3: Black Coffee and Pastrami) by frostygossamer

* * *

The truck was more than half hidden amongst the trees. Looked like the missing guys had been partway through unloading a load of rubble and old lumber from some demolition work.

"Yep, looks like its Pye and Able's truck sure enough," Honesty confirmed, checking the license plate.

There was some faded red lettering on the side of the truck. She read it out,

"ABLE & PYE - No Job Too Small"

"So why'd they stop?" Dean wondered aloud, as he poked idly amongst the debris with a stick. "And where'd they go?"

Suddenly there was an ear-splitting sound like a banshee's wail, and Dean was torn from the dirt and flung forcefully backward against a tree. The back of his head hit the trunk with a sickening clunk, and he blacked out.

~o~O~o~

Dean choked and spluttered, water running from the glass down his face, wetting his shirt.

"Sorry, Dean," Sam apologized, setting the glass down on a nearby table. "Trying to get a little water in ya. Getting a little dehydrated there, dude."

Sam carefully wiped Dean's face dry with a Kleenex. His touch was gentle.

Dean coughed. "More," he gasped.

The water he HAD gotten had felt good. He was suddenly so totally parched.

Sam refilled the glass from a pitcher on the table and, lifting Dean's head with his free hand, applied it to his lips. Dean drank it dry. Sam set it back on the table beside what Dean could now see looked like a generously sized pastrami sandwich on a plate. Boy, did it look good!

Dean sighed and rolled his head on the pillow.

"Good, huh?" Sam commented. "Want that sandwich now?"

"UH-HUH!" Dean responded hungrily. He wondered why the hell he was so damn ravenous.

Sam loosened some of Dean's straps, so he could sit propped up and hold his sandwich. Dean devoured it greedily, which amused Sam. Well, that was so Dean at least.

"So whaddya think you're doing here right now?" Sam asked.

Dean paused mid-bite. "Well, aside from eating a pastrami on rye, which I must say is damn good, God knows. Strapped to a cot in some darkened room with a strange guy named Sam. Average Saturday night, I guess," he responded sarcastically.

Sam chuckled. "You were in a... a fight," he began to explain uncertainly. "You got thrashed, bitten there on the right side of the chest. It got infected. We've gotten THAT under control, but..."

He paused as if searching for the right words.

"Dude, it was a troll. Got a poisonous bite. And you got a full dose."

Sam was relieved to see that his brother seemed to accept the mention of a creature from folklore without a flicker.

"After you went down, the troll gave us the slip," he continued more assuredly. "When you came around, you were raving like a maniac. Poison messing with your head. I had to deck you and run you up here to Bobby's, fast as I could. Bobby and me, we tied you down and he sedated your ass, or you woulda hurt someone. You gave poor old Bobby a black eye for his trouble."

Sam chuckled at that memory.

"Bobby?" Dean asked blankly.

"So you don't remember Bobby either?" Sam inferred. "Well, all in good time, Dean. Seems like your mind got screwed up, man. Muttering total crapola in your sleep. Not knowing me or Bobby when you're awake. Troll venom's nasty. We're researching it, looking for a cure. Problem is you're spending WAY too much time asleep. Man, that is so not good."

As he finished, he realized that Dean was already sinking back into sleep.

"Hey?" he said.

But Dean was only half paying attention as Sam rambled on. Something about a troll? Hell, even in his dreams he couldn't stop thinking about hunting. And sleeping? Honesty never gave him a chance to sleep.

"Dude, this really is one dog's doodie of a dream," he grumbled.

~o~O~o~

Dean came around propped up against the tree that had recently bashed his skull. Honesty was sitting on the dewy grass beside him, wiping her silver-bladed knife on a handful of leaves.

"Sonuvabitch was no banshee," she informed him, with an evil snicker.

The redhead helped Dean get to his feet and brushed him down. He was covered with leaves and other forest detritus.

"Looks like the boys demolished somebody's haunted outhouse. Wreckage strewn all over the damn place. Bodies underneath, squashed almost flat," she relished the grossness of the image. "Spirit turned up soon as we disturbed it. Woman-in-white type bugaboo, mad as all Hell."

She chuckled and twirled her knife in her fingers.

"Didn't much like the cold silverware between her eyes," she commented gleefully.

~o~O~o~

By the time Honesty had driven them back to their motel, Dean was almost out again. She parked up outside their motel room and, noticing the glazed look in his eyes, she poked him hard in the ribs.

"Nuh-uh! No sleeping, Baby Bear. Concussion. Remember?"

Dean grunted and shifted in his seat. "Sure," he mumbled.

Honesty pulled him out of the Impala and, shoving a shoulder under his arm, half carried, half dragged him in their room and dumped him on his bed.

"I," she declared, "am gonna fix you a pot of BLACK coffee that would melt a freakin' spoon!"

Dean grimaced. That was how Honesty's coffee generally was.

"Don't put yourself out for me, Hon. I'm fine," he insisted, manfully.

Honesty guffawed. "Oh yeah, sure," she agreed, sarcastically. "You're just peachy."

Dean's eyes fluttered closed for a second.

... "Hey, Dean?" Sam's voice was soft.

Dean forced his eyelids open and strained to focus on Honesty, across the room overfilling the coffee machine.

... "Hey there, Dean. You OK?"

Dean fought it. "Damned concussion!" he growled.

"Huh?" murmured Honesty absentmindedly, busy searching the cabinet for cups.

... "Hey, Dean. Dean, man, wake up. Wake up, dude. Damn. Losing him again."

Dean grunted. "Freakin' figment," he muttered. "Lemme alone."

Sam chuckled and Dean's eyes homed in on his smiling face, warm and friendly.

"Hi," Sam whispered gently. "Great to have you back, man."

Dean turned his head away from him and sighed.

"Get outta my head, damn it. Don't need some freakin' pin-up boy sexing up my brain."

Sam gasped out a laugh. "Freakin' what?"

~o~O~o~

Honesty was holding Dean's head in her hands, forcing his eyelids open with her thumbs.

"You still in there, Deano?" she asked, anxiously.

Dean slapped her hands away.

"Yeah, I'm still here, woman," he snapped, his voice fuzzy.

The redhead wrapped Dean's hands around a hot mug of coffee, and raised it to his lips.

"Drink," she ordered. "Let the caffeine do its magic."

Dean tried to smile as he sipped.

"Great coffee," he joked, grimly. "This stuff could bring 'round a dead elephant."

Dean managed to stay awake until dawn, by which time Honesty was zonked out on her bed, twitching and growling under her breath like some restless hound dog.

As the morning sun stole in through the window, he got up and fixed himself the last of the coffee. Feeling a need for sugar, he rummaged in his companion's bag for some of the junk food she was always stuffing herself with. Then he quickly pulled on jeans and T-shirt and went outside to get some fresh air.

In the parking lot, Dean leaned against the Impala and ripped open the Twinkie with his teeth. As the sugary snack melted on his tongue, he closed his eyes for a moment and...

~o~O~o~

Sam leaned close to his face. Dean felt the warmth of the big guy's breath on his skin and slowly opened his eyes.

"So where have you just been?" Sam asked, smiling.

Dean was confused. "Huh?"

"Dude, where did you come from, right now?" Sam probed.

"Where did I come from?" Dean repeated blankly.

"Yeah, man, tell me what you were doing right before you woke up here," Sam rephrased.

Dean considered. Should he tell this guy his business? Oh hell, why not? He was only a figment, right? A figment with cute dimples.

"Sitting on the Impala," he answered.

Sam nodded. "You were in the Impala?"

"Nah," Dean corrected him, "on the hood, eating a Twinkie."

Sam was surprised. "They have Twinkies where you were?" He grinned.

"Sure we have Twinkies, man," Dean retorted. "You have Twinkies here?"

"Well, not right now," Sam admitted. "Bobby ate the last one."

Dean raise a questioning eyebrow. "Bobby again? So who's this Bobby?"

He thought this was maybe the second time he had heard that name.

"Yeah, yeah. Later," Sam responded, not wanting to get into that right now. "So where were you eating this Twinkie? And why?"

"New Hampshire," Dean replied. "Breakfast. Didn't get to eat yesterday. Goddamn phantom gave me a concussion."

"Oh?" Sam remarked.

That explained yesterday's drifting in and out of consciousness.

"How, uh, how'd this phantom give you a concussion?" he asked.

"We were hunting it's ass," Dean explained tetchily. "It threw me up against a tree. Hit my freakin' head."

"You were hunting?" Sam repeated, somewhat surprised. "Hunting phantoms?"

That was new. So Dean was hunting in his sleep. Not floating around in a surreal haze like in regular dreams. He was LIVING someplace while he was out, in some troll dream world where he still hunted, like normal.

"We were looking for these two missing guys," Dean explained. "Me and Honesty were. And the damn fugly kinda took exception."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Honesty? Dude, who's Honesty?"

~o~O~o~

"Ooph!" Dean was roused from his daze by his duffel thumping into his stomach.

Honesty was standing in front of him, designer holdall over one shoulder, monster cosmetic case in her manicured hand.

"How you feeling?" she asked, cupping his chin with her free hand and scrutinizing his face. "Pretty green eyes look clear enough."

Dean batted her hand away.

"I'm good, woman," Dean responded. "A little tired, is all."

Honesty grimaced. "Then you won't be wanting to drive," she deduced, jingling his keys in front of his face.

Dean made a half-hearted attempt to grab them.

"Nuh-uh!" the redhead admonished.

They threw their bags in the back and slid onto the front seat. Honesty started the engine and pulled away. She reached over and put on the radio, but turned the volume down low. Hey, she could be thoughtful. She chuckled as Dean leaned his head against her shoulder and closed his eyes.

~o~O~o~

Dean opened half an eye and immediately spotted Sam.

"My goddamn imagination," he cursed to himself. "Why in hell am I dreaming up some big, handsome hunk with shoulders, biceps and abs like a college jock. Hot as one of Honesty's wet dreams, and I'm not even gay. Go figure."

Now that right there was the most disturbing thing. It was kind of disconcerting that he would even question his sexuality. But there WAS something about this guy, something appealing, something oddly... nice.

Dean moved and, to his surprise, discovered that he was no longer strapped down. Sam noticed the movement, and he shifted his attention from the book he had been reading to smile down at Dean.

"Yep," he said. "We untied you, Dean. Seem to have calmed down," and he grinned. "Until you start throwing those punches again, that is."

Dean grumbled and tried to sit up. Sam helped him to swing his legs over the side of the cot and sit straight. Dean leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his hands through his hair.

"So how does this work, man?" he asked eventually. "You're a personification of something hidden deep in my psyche, huh? Suppressed freakin' desire or what?"

Sam barked out a laugh. "Quit with the psychobabble, Dean. It's me. Sam."

Dean turned and studied his face for a moment. His handsome friendly face, those dimples, the bright hazel eyes, the open smile.

"Dude, what freaky-ass corner of my addled brain did I conjure you up from, huh?"

Sam stretched a long arm around his brother's tense shoulders.

"The corner that needed me, I guess?" he suggested. "But seriously, Dean, trust me. I AM totally real."

Dean was so bone-tired he could have almost relaxed into the big guy's comfortable embrace. Almost. But instead he pulled away from Sam's half-hug and Sam sighed.

"So, tell me about 'Honesty'," he suggested, placing a large gentle hand on Dean's thigh.

~o~O~o~

"...whole lotta woman. Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" boomed from the radio.

Dean jolted awake the second Honesty hiked up the volume to eleven. Apparently she had done being thoughtful.

"No time for snoring there, Deanie-boy," she yelled in his ear. "We got us a hunt."

Dean pulled himself up straight in his seat and winced. His body ached all over and he badly needed to get some real sleep. Honesty was like the Energizer Bunny. She never stopped, she never seemed to need sleep and she never got hurt. For real. Dean liked to think he was invincible, but that was mainly in his head. Right now he felt anything but invincible.

"Next stop Vermont," Honesty went on cheerily. "Nice little Black Dog needs flushing out."

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, yeah."

A Black Dog was exactly what he needed right now. Like a hole in the head. Ornery suckers. He unconsciously rubbed his right pecs. Honesty caught the movement out of her right eye, and her lips tensed into a straight line.

"You been sleeping on the job too much lately, buddy," she said. "What YOU need is a little fugly action. Get the adrenaline pumping. Then you'll be right back in the game."

Dean sighed and rolled down the window, letting the cool, damp air slap him in the face and dispel the last of his mental fog. The redhead was probably right. He just needed to get back in the game.

TBC

* * *

A/N: More soon.


	4. Nestling

Honesty (Part 4: Nestling) by frostygossamer

* * *

Week 4: Vermont

The supposed 'Black Dog' had turned out, to Honesty's great disgust, not to be an enormous hellhound with glowing red eyes and hair-raising, blood-dripping fangs, prowling the byways of the Green Mountain State. It was more of a deceased family pet with a penchant for following people home and curling up on their doorstep.

In the end it didn't really need to be ganked, more a gentle Ghost Whisperer sort of encouragement to 'Go toward the light. Your master is waiting.' The redhead was hugely disappointed, and threw one hell of a hissy fit. All Dean could do was laugh it off. Another good night's sleep wasted.

But Dean had a plan. He was going to get himself that good night's sleep, whether Honesty approved or not. All he had to do was get the redhead flat out drunk, then he could grab his forty winks, or as many hours as he could get away with, and things would be good again. No more doubts, no more dreams, no more 'Sam'.

~o~O~o~

They started with a couple beers with dinner and ended up in a dingy, smoke-filled dive at the wrong end of town, throwing back 'red eye' like two longshoremen. Boy, could that dame drink!

Honesty would have drunk Dean under the table long ago, if he hadn't been pouring her two fingers for every one he downed, since an hour in. When the redhead finally keeled over on the table, he wondered if he had accidentally killed her. Until she started snoring.

Two very accommodating bouncers helped Dean get her out of the bar. Unfortunately, to his great irritation, they also insisted on confiscating his car keys.

He was not amused.

~o~O~o~

Together Dean and his companion managed to half stagger, half carry each other back to their motel, where Honesty was soon snoring in her bed like a warthog.

Dean made the most of his quality 'him' time. He took a leisurely shower, changed into his most comfortable sleepwear, turned down his bed, plumped his pillows and nestled.

The moment he turned out the light he sensed the seductive tide of sleep flowing over him. He closed his eyes and...

~o~O~o~

Dean was laying curled on his side on a queen-size bed, in some regular bedroom this time. It was daytime but the drapes had been drawn together, leaving the room only dimly illuminated. It was quiet, tranquil even, and restful.

"Way to go," Dean thought, maybe he was going to be allowed to sleep both sides of the divide. Result!

But he was soon interrupted. Behind him he heard the scraping of chair legs as someone sitting in his blind spot stood up. The room door opened and a gruff male voice softly called "Sam!"

There was a short interchange and this person left, to be replaced by the now familiar presence of 'Sam'. Sam walked around the bed to stand in front of Dean. His fingers lightly brushed Dean's temple, perhaps testing his temperature.

"Hi," he said. "Like some company, man?"

Dean looked up at him blearily. Honestly, he was too damn pooped to argue.

Sam climbed on the bed beside him and pulled him into his arms. Dean's automatic response was to resist, but after a moment he let himself go limp. What was the point anyways? This was only a dream, right?

Sam cradled Dean's head against his broad chest and wrapped his arms around his back. It was surprisingly comfortable. The beat of Sam's heart was like a lullaby, calming Dean down to a peaceful repose. OK, so he had got to sleep that way? Fine. He could live with that. The big guy made a pretty good body pillow.

But Sam had other ideas. He wasn't about to let Dean fall back into sleep so soon.

He and Bobby had worked out that Dean seemed to be living in a dream world in his head, while he slept. To him, Sam and the real world were nothing more than imaginary. Bobby's research suggested, if Dean didn't snap out of this trance soon, his real world body would just fade and die.

Sam needed to act quickly but, unfortunately, there was nothing he or Bobby could do to break the troll's hold on his brother. Dean had to break it from within. And to do that he had to WANT to. And, for him to want to, he had to work out for HIMSELF that he was living a dream.

"Dean, tell me about 'Honesty'," Sam asked softly.

Dean let go a deep sigh.

"Lemme sleep, Sam," he begged tiredly. "I am SO freakin' beat. Need me some honest-to-God rest."

"I know, Dean," Sam replied gently. "You're worn out, man. This has gone on way too long, and your strength's ebbing away. Dude, you won't last much longer."

Dean made a sound between a sigh and a yawn which wracked his whole body.

"So freakin' TIRED..." he murmured, eyes fluttering closed.

Sam moved him gently in his arms, rousing him again.

"Nuh-uh," he warned. "No sleeping, Dean. You can rest, but no sleep. I need to keep you here with me a while. OK?"

"I'm here with you," Dean murmured dozily, into Sam's shirt.

The big guy chuckled, a warm vibration that Dean felt under his cheek.

"What say I give you a backrub, huh?" Sam suggested.

"Mmm," was all Dean could manage to respond.

Dean was wearing only a T-shirt and boxers. Sam slipped the T-shirt off over his brother's head, rolled him onto his belly and shifted to kneel on the bed, straddling his hips. With firm, slow hands he began to massage Dean's tight back muscles. Dean let out a small groan of pleasure.

"'S good, man," he purred.

"Tell me about 'Honesty'," Sam asked again. "We need to know, Dean."

Dean exhaled loudly and shifted his arms to rest his head on them.

"Honesty's my partner," he explained. "We're hunters, Hon and me. We hunt supernatural monsters and send them where they oughta go."

"Uh-huh? You and this Honesty? Nobody else?" Sam inquired. "You don't have, say, a brother?"

"Don't have no brother," Dean grumbled. "Told you that already. Got no family. There's only me and Honesty. Never been anyone else."

"Never?" Sam asked.

"Never," Dean quickly confirmed.

But now he was wondering. Didn't he have folks once? Didn't he have...? Had he never...?

"And so... who IS Honesty?" Sam probed.

"A freakin' carrottop tornado," Dean answered, chuckling. Now that was something he DID know about. "She's a fiery redhead with the voice of a nightingale and the body of a Playboy cover girl. And she's one goddamn fearless freakin' mother. Ain't met a fugly yet she couldn't stare down into a pool of quaking Jell-O. Man, that woman is awesome!"

"Some sales pitch," Sam commented. "She sounds like a dream. So she's your... what... girlfriend?"

Dean shook his head and managed a grin without opening his eyes.

"Hell no! Honesty is no way any guy's freakin' 'girl'," he insisted. "Hon is a one woman tsunami. No guy's ever gonna tame HER. She's like a black widow spider. She eats her mates."

Sam paused his kneading in surprise. "For real?" he asked.

"Hell no, not for real, doofus," Dean responded sharply. "She's a whole lotta regular woman."

"Regular? Really?" Sam nudged.

"Yeah, sure," Dean snapped back. Now Sam had got him thinking. "Yeah, SURE she's a regular woman."

Dean pondered for a moment. Honesty was like no other regular woman he had ever known. And Dean had known one hell of a LOT of women.

"It's just..." he broke off.

"It's just what, Dean?" Sam prompted.

"It's just... I can't remember how we met, is all," Dean continued. "Can't recall how we hooked up. 'S kinda strange."

"Yep dude, that IS strange," Sam agreed, working Dean's trapezius. "DAMN strange."

Dean fell silent, but Sam could see that he was mulling that idea over. There was a chink of hope. So Dean DID have some doubts about his dream world. Maybe there was some chance of getting his brother out of the troll's thrall after all.

To be sure that Dean heard and remembered, Sam leaned down close to his brother's ear and whispered urgently,

"Dean, you gonna ASK her!"

When Sam had finished the backrub, he made sure Dean was comfortable, covering him with a soft blanket to keep him warm. Dean sighed and snuggled. He could have stayed there forever, dream or not. Real life with Honesty never gave him time for this sort of peace. He didn't want to wake up.

Sam lay down on the bed beside his brother and listened to his breathing level out as he drifted back off into slumber, and the delusion that was Honesty. He prayed that he had stirred up Dean's doubts enough that they would eat away at her illusion, and that he would be coming back to him soon.

~o~O~o~

When Dean surfaced into consciousness, the motel room was silent, except for what sounded like a motorbike revving in the parking lot. It took Dean a few slow seconds to realize that that was actually the sound of his hunting partner's snoring.

Honesty was still passed out on her bed, thank God. Dean quietly pulled his comforter over his face, and attempted to grab a few more minutes of calm before the inevitable storm began.

It didn't last.

Honesty threw off her bedclothes with an exaggerated flourish.

"OK, world," she growled. "What the freakin' HELL did you do to me last night? Head's pounding like an overripe watermelon chock-full of Mexican jumping beans doing a hoochie-coochie to the rhythm of a freakin' highschool marching band."

Dean grimaced and pulled his covers tighter around his head. Honesty flounced out of bed and grabbed Dean's comforter, yanking it on the floor.

"YOU!" she bawled. "Freakin' sadist! You wanted to KILL me, we got us a trunkful of firepower, kiddo!"

Dean groaned. It was no use fighting it. Honesty was on the rampage. He might as well get with the program.

"YOU wanted to go on a bar hop, lady," he insisted, propping himself up on one hand.

"Bar hop? That was a Path of freakin' Destruction!" the redhead declared. "Throat's like a matchbook striker. Stomach's churning like some laudromat clunker full of stink-ass week-old shorts and cheesy socks."

Dean wanted to laugh but it hurt his head.

"Hon, we both need a 'hair of the dog', and we need it BAD," he diagnosed.

"A freakin' HAIR?" she retorted. "Gonna need me that whole damn dog! RAW!"

Honesty stumbled into some clothes, flinging her pantyhose over her shoulder when she couldn't negotiate her feet into them, and jammed on odd shoes. Then she was wobbling by the door, attempting and failing to fix up her lopsided ginger hair.

"You coming, Deano?" she demanded, opening the room door wide while Dean was still shortless.

He threw a shoe at her.

"Hold up one minute, woman," he complained. "Lemme get decent."

"Like you've ever been decent," she grumbled, stepping outside to inhale a big lungful of morning air, and collapsing into a fit of coughing.

"God, I need me a ceegar," she whined.

~o~O~o~

As they sat in a nearby McDonald's, Dean discreetly examined his companion. She was sitting across from him, grinding her teeth and gnarling to herself as she clutched her second cup of strong black coffee. Crumbs of three demolished breakfast burgers were all that was left in the savagely ripped paper bag on the table in front of her. Dean sipped his java and nibbled half-heartedly on an Egg McMuffin.

He had a lot of respect for this gal. She was tough and she was mean, she was one hell of a hunter and she had been a good friend to him for who knew how long. Actually, who knew how long? He sure as hell didn't. And, for once, he let himself linger on those doubts. Why, out of all the hunters he could have chosen to work with, had he chosen Honesty? She wasn't even family.

Not that he had any family. Not that he had ever had any. Although... He tried to think back to his childhood. His mom and dad? What had happened to his mom and dad? Hell, he must have HAD a mom and dad.

Honesty seemed to have noticed his 'thoughtful' face.

"Little grey cells on overdrive, Einstein?" she asked with a smirk.

"Just thinking... Thinking 'bout back when I was a kid," he answered.

"When you were a kid?" she repeated blankly. Then, suddenly alarmed, she slammed her paper cup down on the table. "Well crap, Deanie-boy, you don't wanna be dwelling on the past. This is the here-and-now! Life is for living, for raising hell! Honey, you wanna get out there and LIVE!"

Dean suspected that he and the redhead had been doing rather TOO much living of late.

"Uh yeah," he responded. "Live fast, die young, and leave an awesome-looking corpse. Sure, sure."

Honesty grinned like a thousand watt stadium flood.

"Way to go, Winchester!" she applauded.

Dean swallowed. Winchester? Hell, she never used his last name. And there was SOMETHING about that name checked him for a second. Deep inside he knew it meant somehow more, more than just him. God damn it, he knew the word had a PLURAL!

The redhead made a choking sound, realizing she had said the wrong thing.

"Don't sweat it, darlin'," she continued briskly. "C'mon. Let's go. Had enough of this freakin' kindergarten lunchroom."

She stood up and pushed her way out of the crowded restaurant. Dean followed her slowly, feeling vaguely spacey and disconnected.

~o~O~o~

Honesty was sitting on the hood of the Impala smoking a cigarillo when Dean emerged from the McRestaurant. He plonked down beside her, pulling his jacket tighter around himself against the cold. It was a beautiful, chilly, bright New England morning.

"So where next?" he asked.

Honesty took a long draw from her cigar and blew it in his face.

"Upstate New York," she said. "Face-eating fungus."

Dean's lip curled in disgust. "Damn it, Hon, you pick out some freakin' doozies."

The redhead smirked. "The ugly ones are the best," she laughed.

"Talking 'bout your sick-ass jobs, not your taste in guys," Dean quipped.

Honesty stepped down and made to get in the car.

"Jealous, pretty boy?" she teased.

Dean shook his head dismissively, and joined her at the wheel, as she unfolded their map.

"OK, Hon, point me toward the grid ref."

TBC

* * *

A/N: Dean is starting to wonder... More soon.


	5. Confused

A/N: Disclaimer: The mangled lyrics of 'Dazed and Confused' by AC/DC belong to the copyright holders.

* * *

Honesty (Part 5: Confused) by frostygossamer

* * *

Sam sat in a chair beside the bed in Bobby's guest room, where his brother Dean lay insensible. Trapped in a sleep curse that had him locked in a troll's dream world, Dean's strength and vital energy were fading a little every day. Since two days ago they had attached Dean to a drip, in an attempt to keep him hydrated and control his blood sugar, but they were barely keeping him alive.

Sam moved to perch on the corner of the mattress. He took his brother's limp hand in his and stroked it gently. He felt so goddamn helpless, staring down at his big brother, pale and sick. He wished there was a monster to gank. But the troll that had wounded Dean had vanished without trace, and he and Bobby had gotten nowhere tracking her down in the real world.

Dean shifted slightly and murmured something inaudible. Sam bent over him quickly and strained his ear to catch the words.

"Bin dazed 'n' confused fur so long, 's not true. Wanned a woman, never bargined fur you."

Dean was singing softly.

"Freakin' AC/DC," Sam had to laugh. "Even in his freakin' dreams."

Somewhere in Trollworld, Dean was tearing up the highway, cassette player on full blast, warbling away to an AC/DC track. He turned to his shotgun passenger, grinning, and expected Honesty to continue the verse.

She missed the beat.

Sam, however, couldn't help but join in. Like it or not he had been raised on this music. Couldn't get away from it if he wanted. The words were branded on Sam's brain, and they readily slipped through the membrane of sleep into his brother's.

... "Lotsa people talk 'n' few of 'em know, souluva woman wos created below."

In the guest room, Dean's eyes cracked open as the lyrics penetrated his ears.

"Sam?" he gasped faintly.

Hearing that name escape from Dean's mouth, Honesty shot him a poisonous glare and grabbed the wheel.

"Oh no, Baby Cakes!" she cried. "That would be TOO freakin' easy!"

~o~O~o~

The next thing Dean knew he was laying with his head in his arms, draped over the steering wheel. The Impala was in the ditch by the side of the blacktop, steam coming from somewhere under the buckled hood. Honesty grabbed a handful of his spiky hair and yanked his head up.

"Oh, Dean, Dean," she scolded him. "What the crap did you do?"

She shook her head and clucked.

"Now you've crashed your baby."

Dropping his head, she dusted off her hands.

"And all over some worthless guy. Ain't that always the goddamn way?"

~o~O~o~

Week 5: Upstate New York

An hour later, they were still sitting on the roadside waiting for the tow truck. Honesty was chawing on bubblegum, and Dean was looking as pissed off as all hell.

"Where the crap is that goddamn tow truck?" Dean demanded petulantly, after another five minutes passed without a sign.

"Dean honey, you gotta learn to be more chilled," Honesty commented. "You oughta take up yoga or something."

Dean gave her an incredulous look. "Well hello there, Mahesh Yogi Berra," he snarked.

"Berra weren't no swami. He was baseball," Honesty corrected, elbowing him in the ribs. "Hell, even I know that!"

"Oh yeah?" Dean asked sarcastically. "Like you would know."

"Hey, I know stuff," Honesty retorted. "Yoga is supposed to be good for the soul. Personally, I prefer sex, drugs and rock-and-roll."

"Yoga's not gonna get my baby fixed," Dean grumbled.

"Yeah, well, if you hadn't lost it back there, we wouldn't be in this crappy situation," Honesty retorted.

Dean wasn't standing for that. "Lost it?" he snapped.

Honesty raised an eyebrow. "Daydreaming 'bout that boyfriend of yours."

"My WHAT?" he yelled, jumping to his feet. "Hon, you grabbed the wheel and ran us off of the road."

"Did not!" she piped up.

"And how'd you know about my... about..." he trailed off, confused.

Honesty thought quickly. "You talk about him in your sleep," she accused.

"I WHAT?!" Dean snapped.

"Big, handsome hunk? Shoulders, biceps and abs like a college jock? Oh baby, you got one fruity imagination," she mocked.

Dean stomped off along the road a ways, fuming.

There was something very off here. Honesty didn't know the lyrics to AC/DC? When they'd been travelling together for, what, years? And did she just repeat something to him that had only been in his head? What was going on?

Honesty quickly scuttled after him.

"Hey, Dean sweetie, pay me no mind. I'm jerking your gherkin, is all."

Dean stopped and jabbed his hands in his pockets.

"Sometimes," he growled. "Sometimes, Hon, I reckon I oughta..."

"Oughta what?"

"...oughta..." Dean turned and caught the look in her eyes, dismayed and just a little desperate. The anger seeped out of him, as he stared at her for a long moment.

"Can you tell me how I know you, Hon, how we met up?" he demanded. Honesty took a step backward. "Why the hell am I hunting with you, lady? Answer me that."

Honesty pouted for a second, then slapped on a big, beautiful smile.

"Because I'm sexy as sh*t, horny as hell, lonely as f*ck and bored out of my tiny mind. And so are you, Deanie-boy. We're like the famous two peas, baby."

Dean heaved a sigh, shaking his head. He couldn't argue with that. But he HAD noticed she had sidestepped his first question.

~o~O~o~

The tow truck eventually appeared, and they got a ride to the nearest town. Dean insisted on sticking around to supervise the work on his baby, while Honesty left to scout out Main Street and find them food and a room someplace.

Dean 'supervised' the mechanic like an anxious parent, until he had annoyed the hell out of the guy and was politely asked to 'take a break'. He went and sat in the garage's waiting room, a bare little space with a row of dilapidated chairs and a small table piled with old magazines.

He closed his eyes and thought about recent events. Dream Sam had started him looking at his hunting partner, Honesty, in a new light. He was beginning to realize that something didn't ring true about that redhead.

In fact, the more he thought about it, something didn't ring true about the whole set-up. Honesty, bless her, was so off-the-wall it was unreal, and yet Sam seemed so convincing he could almost believe... You would almost think that the dream world and this were... Oh Jeez, the wrong way around! Suddenly it seemed so obvious.

Dean lay down across the row of chairs, his jacket folded behind his head, and closed his eyes, deliberately clearing his mind. He reckoned he had about a half hour.

~o~O~o~

Dean shot up into a sitting position on the bed at Bobby's, almost knocking over the drip stand beside him with the sudden movement. The middle-aged bearded guy, who had been dozing in a chair by the bed, barely managed to grab the thing in time.

"Jeez, Dean," Bobby gasped. "Near had the dang thing over."

Dean's voice was almost gone. "Haven't got long," he hissed. "Where's Sam?"

"Sam's, uh, in the can," Bobby answered. "I'll go call him."

He hurried out the door and returned a few seconds later with an anxious-looking Sam.

"Dean!" Sam said, sitting himself down on the bed. "You're awake!"

"Yeah, but for maybe not much longer," Dean gasped. "Gonna get back real soon."

"Who's gonna get back, dude?" Sam asked.

"Honesty," Dean answered. "I figured it out. She gotta be the troll. She's sure as hell no freakin' human chick.

Sam was confused. "Dean, you told me Honesty was a hottie. That troll was uglier than phunk."

"Dunno. Guess, in Dreamland, she can look any way she wants," Dean reasoned. "And I reckon she has a thing for Lucille Ball."

"Seriously, man? As in 'I love Lucy'?" Sam asked, smirking.

"Hey, Lucy was a babe in her day," Dean maintained.

Sam chuckled. "OK, so you sure Honesty is the troll?"

"Yeah, and you gotta tell me, what do I do?" Dean demanded.

"Listen, you gotta gank her, man," Sam told him. "Bobby's done the research and that's the only way. You gotta gank her in the dream, and it'll release you from her curse. She dies in the dream, she'll die for real, then you'll be free."

"Gank her?" Dean repeated uncertainly.

"Dean, she's a MONSTER!" Sam insisted, grabbing his brother's shoulders.

Sam couldn't understand why Dean seemed hesitant. The troll had attacked his brother, hurt him, and she had locked him in her poison-induced dream world while his own body languished and failed back in reality. If he could have, Sam would have ganked her himself. Where his brother's life was concerned, he had absolutely no qualms.

"Do it, Dean," he insisted. "Do it and you'll come back home to me."

He pulled Dean against his chest, slipping his arms around him and enveloping him in a bear-like hug. He wanted to hold on to him so bad. He couldn't let him slip away like this.

Dean responded to the hug by hugging Sam back, and he was surprised by how feeble he was. But there was something about this guy that made him feel warm and safe. All his doubts were melting away. For some reason he really wanted to be with Sam. Whoever he was, he felt like home. Maybe Dean wasn't as straight as he thought he was.

Sam pressed his cheek against his brother's and, almost tearfully, whispered in his ear, "Need you, man."

Dean squeezed the big guy a little tighter. He was taking a gamble. There was no way he could tell for sure which world was real and which was a fantasy. All he had to go on was gut instinct.

Right now his gut was telling him, between Honesty and Sam, he stood a better chance of surviving with Sam. Honesty was going to ride him to death. Sam, on the other hand, was gentle and affectionate. He cared, and Dean really needed that right now.

Dean pressed his face into the crook of Sam's neck and murmured,

"Dude, you better be freakin' real. 'Cause I think I've fallen in love."

Then his eyes turned blank and he went limp in Sam's arms.

~o~O~o~

"Ta-da!" Honesty sang out, as she crashed into the waiting room, arms full of clothes store bags.

She was modelling a new outfit, prancing around to show it off. Dean lifted his head and stared at her.

"Lady, you went to get food," he remarked.

"I GOT food," she retorted, dropping her bags and flopping on a chair. "But I just HAD to get these shoes, and this top, and this belt..."

"Do we have ANY money left?" Dean asked wearily.

Honesty fixed him with her big blue eyes and pouted.

"Don't I get to have a little fun, Deano?" she asked, patting her hair and fluttering her eyelids theatrically. "And don't I look GOOD?"

Dean shook his head and chuckled indulgently.

"Yeah, babe, you look damn good," he allowed. "You ALWAYS look damn good."

Honesty grinned at him, suddenly looking like a big kid, her eyes twinkling.

"Why thank you, kind sir," she returned, coyly.

~o~O~o~

The Impala was soon ready to roll. Dean paid for the repairs with an iffy credit card, while Honesty distracted the garage owner with a naughty joke, and they drove straight to the trailer home of the latest fungus victim.

He wasn't a pretty sight.

The guy was a garbage collector, and it appeared that all the afflictees had been part of the same garbage crew. It didn't take Dean and Honesty long to work out that there was probably a disgruntled spell-worker living somewhere on their route.

It turned out the face-fungus-infected garbage men had been hexed by an amateur witch who objected to spilled trash on her lawn. Dean turned on his characteristic charm and sexy smile, and convinced her to lift that little curse, now that the guys had been taught a lesson.

Honesty wasn't best pleased. She had been itching to try out her blowtorch on the unfortunate crew. Dean had to draw the line.

"Gotta draw the line, Hon. All that freaky fungus needs now is AB cream and a little TLC." he insisted. "And, as for the wannabe witch, I reckon she feels bad enough about it all she won't be fooling around with the 'craft' again in a hurry."

The redhead grinned knowingly. "So it's got nothing to do with the impressive rack on that golden-tressed enchantress, huh?"

"Hey, I take into account all the important facts of the case, right?" her partner chuckled.

"I'll let you have that one," she conceded, as they got in the Impala.

~o~O~o~

They finished up and drove back to the motel where Honesty had taken them a room. The redhead had gotten pizza for dinner, and they washed it down with a few bottles of beer.

As they ate, Dean secretly studied Honesty's face. He felt like he had known this woman since forever. And yet, could it be true that the life he seemed to be living wasn't real? Was only some fantasy? That she had him spellbound? That she was a TROLL?

Suddenly their eyes met, as they both held a pizza slice halfway to their mouths.

"You're a piece of work, Hon. You know that?" Dean said, admiringly.

Honesty smirked. "Ain't I," she agreed. She took another bite of her thin-crust. "Won't say 'it takes one to know one'," she chuckled. "But it DOES apply here."

They finished the pizza in silence. Then Dean smiled fondly at his companion and asked, "So how come you and me never got it on, huh?"

"Because I'm just too much woman for ya, Sugar Buns," the redhead fired back. "And don't think you're getting any now. You're not my type."

Dean chuckled. "Oh yeah? And what is your type, Hon?"

Honesty grinned. "Uncomplicated."

Dean had to admit that wasn't him. Dean was a muy complicado guy.

"So what's the job tonight?" he asked, tossing the empties in the trash. "What fun have ya gotten lined up for us, huh?"

"House," Honesty replied.

"Haunted house?" Dean interpreted.

"Nuh-uh," Honesty responded enigmatically.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Dean has finally got it, but what is he going to do with it?


	6. The Closet

A/N: Thanks to everyone who kept on reading to the end. Here comes the final part...

* * *

Honesty (Part 6: The Closet) by frostygossamer

* * *

Eleven thirty they headed toward the hellish house, tooled up and ready to rumble.

As he drove, Dean mulled over his plan of action. He was 90 per cent sure that this life he found himself living was an illusion, and 90 per cent sure that his hunting buddy, Honesty, was the troll that had concocted that deception.

But Dean couldn't just whack the broad apropos of nothing. What if he was wrong? What if he was just insane? What if it was the bang on the head that had loosened his hold on reality? What if Sam was just a blood clot or whatever.

Dean needed to be sure. He needed to be DEAD sure. So, in the meanwhile, he was going along with this hunt. Sooner or later the troll, if she was a troll, would show her hand. Then he would be ready.

The crumbling old shack glowered dark and forbidding, as Dean parked the Impala and stepped down onto the street. He surveyed the front porch warily.

"Looks quiet enough," he said.

Honesty chortled. "Looks ain't everything," she retorted, opening the trunk and selecting herself a sawed-off.

Dean came up beside her and picked out his favourite shotgun. The redhead pumped her sawed-off gleefully.

"'S not gonna know what hit it," she chuckled.

It wasn't often that they had tackled a vivified dwelling, but it wasn't their first and Dean knew they could be nasty-ass things.

"You watch yourself, Hon," he warned her. "Remember these suckers are all eyes and ears."

Honesty rolled her eyes. "Yeah, Mommy," she riposted.

Dean grumbled a wordless response. The two hunters walked boldly up to the front stoop. The half-shuttered front windows seemed to watch them as they approached. They paused when they reached the porch.

"You wanna do the honours?" Honesty asked. "'Cause in these heels..." and she flashed her gorgeous new red high heels.

~o~O~o~

Dean kicked in the door and they bounded into the house, back to back, shotguns cocked and ready. The building gave a hollow groan, like unpopular cousins had decided to pay a visit.

"You check in back. I'll do upstairs," Honesty suggested.

Dean nodded and the two separated.

Dean found himself in the kitchen. The floorboards creaked wearily as he walked in the room. The cabinet doors were hanging open, like the place had been ransacked. But there was no sign of the centre of disturbance that indicated the architect and Achilles' heel of the possession.

On the middle of the kitchen table, there stood some kind of a straw effigy surrounded by the stubs of thirteen candles. He picked up the doll and noticed its eyes were made from silver dimes.

"Hi," he said. Someone had already had a stab at this thing.

As he turned the straw doll over in his hand, spiders ran out from between the strands of straw and he dropped the thing reflexively.

"Nice," he commented.

Exorcists. He wondered what had become of the would-be exorcists. Or even if they had existed. IF all this was an elaborate hoax cooked up by his buddy Honesty, then maybe this too was just so much prankish window dressing.

Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck jump to attention. He had the strongest feeling that he was being watched. He turned around quickly... Nothing there. He shivered. He had to give it to her. The atmos was real.

As he was pondering, there was a sudden hideous scream from upstairs. Dean levelled his shotgun at the ceiling, then he heard the sound of a struggle and running feet above him. He ran into the hall and took the stairs two at a time.

~o~O~o~

Up on the second floor, Dean checked first one bedroom, then another. The sound of banging and crashing was getting louder as he moved down the hallway. When he reached the third bedroom, a horrifying sight met his eyes.

Black drapes, black carpet, ugly images all over the blood-red walls, it had clearly been a teenager's bedroom. And, worse still, a teenager who was into Black Sabbath! Stuffed bats, plastic skulls, badly drawn pentacles and pentagrams, Ozzy Osbourne DVDs! Who knew what evil had been conjured up by that sick adolescent? Whatever it was, it was hard at work creating mayhem!

An indoor twister had erupted, filling the room with a swirl of domestic debris and a deafening rush like Niagara hitting the rocks. Everything not tied down was flying around the room, everything tied down was straining to fly.

Honesty was clinging to a bedpost, feet in the air, screeching at the top of her lungs and, on the opposite wall, a walk-in closet stood gaping, drawing everything in like a ravenous maw.

"The thing in the closet!" she struggled to yell for laughing. "Who'da believed there'd really be a goddamn THING in the closet?"

The THING in the closet gurgled evilly like it was joining in the joke. Honesty squawked, kicking her legs wildly. She was beginning to lose her desperate grip on the bedpost. Her eyes were wide and scared, but she was evidently enjoying every moment of it.

"I found a package in there, mailed from some dot-com," Honesty bellowed. "Inside there was this BRAIN, a goddamn BRAIN in a bottle, scary eyeballs attached and everything! And it goddamn STARED at me! And then..."

A black candelabrum shot past her head and was immediately swallowed up by the closet maelstrom, quickly being followed by two stuffed animals and a scarlet silk pillow. Dean was starting to feel like he had found himself in some dumb Scooby-Doo episode. The whole thing was WAY too cartoonish to be real.

"Blast the sucker, Dean!" the redhead yelped. "Before it sucks off my freakin' pantyhose!"

The doors of the closet shuddered on their hinges, and Dean glimpsed a glint of the glass brain-jar, as the thing rolled scarily into view. As Honesty had described, the cerebrum bobbed in its tank of formaldehyde, stalky eyes glaring demoniacally. Dean immediately thought of Steve Martin. Honesty had really jumped the shark here.

Dean rolled his own eyes. "Seriously, Hon?" he sighed.

He grimaced and raised his weapon, but just as he was about to fire, smash the jar and rid the world of that unsightly giant pickled walnut,

... "Gank her? ...Do it, Dean!" The words floated in his head.

He could take Honesty out, right now, with one blast of silver shot. His aim veered from the closet to the panicking redhead.

... "She's a MONSTER!" Sam's voice echoed.

Honesty stared up at him pleadingly, her face turning a very unattractive shade of green. An image of the troll, bearing down on him, teeth bared, popped into Dean's mind.

"Dee-ean," she gasped. "Plee-eeze!"

... "Do it and you'll come back home to me ...Need you..."

Dean closed his eyes and squeezed.

But... at the very last moment, Dean's aim snapped back to the closet. He gave it both barrels, blasting great chunks out of the frame, silver pellets peppering the entire area. The pernicious thing issued a sound like some unearthly, drawn-out wail and exploded into a million slivers of wood, plaster, glass and gunky matter. All the junk that had been flying around the room fell out of the air with a series of clunks and plonks and the room was suddenly still.

Honesty coughed and scrambled to her feet, hobbling on one shoe to snatch up the gun that had fallen from her grip during the fight. The other shoe, when she found it, was ruined beyond repair. She threw it down with a cuss, turning to Dean.

"Th-thanks, b-babe," she stuttered. "That was damn close."

"You're welcome," Dean replied automatically.

Honesty looked him right in the eyes with her big blues. He stared straight back at her and he registered the moment she saw the jig was up.

"Am I?" she asked, suddenly sounding childishly unsure.

Dean regarded her for a long moment, and then turned to go, chuckling.

"Yeah, Hon, guess you are."

~o~O~o~

They were sitting in some nearly deserted bar in the middle of nowhere. The only other patrons, on this quiet afternoon, were one old guy nursing a beer while he read Pro Football Weekly, and a young couple giggling in a corner. The bartender was standing motionless behind the bar, polishing a glass in thoughtful silence.

Honesty and Dean were sharing one last bottle of JD. Pouring them both another drink, Dean opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it again.

"What?" Honesty asked.

Dean sighed. "I was wondering... Honesty, why me?"

The redhead exhaled and pouted for a moment before answering. It was pretty clear what Dean was asking, now he had figured things out.

Punching him lightly on the shoulder, she complained, "Hey, you came looking for me, Buster."

"Because you were scaring the living crap outta people," he retorted.

"Oh heck, those chickenhearted crybabies," she snickered. "Just having me a little fun."

"Fun?" he repeated, incredulously. "You call that crap you were doing fun?"

"Well, what would you call it?" she demanded.

"I'd call it reckless endangerment," he declared.

Honesty looked outraged. "And guys like you would KILL people for that?"

Dean shook his head. "You're not 'people', Hon."

Honesty snorted. "No, I guess I'm not 'people'," she agreed. "Just little ol' me, all on my ownsome. Just some little ol' troll doing my troll thing. What did you expect?"

"Wouldn't've bothered you, if you'd left well alone, Hon," he said, but he suspected that was a lie.

"Oh yes you would've, Deano," she retorted. "You're a hunter. That's what you do. You hunt me and my kind."

After another swig of her whiskey, she sighed.

"Well, truth is I was bored and your life looked kinda interesting. Thought I'd try it out for a while. Figured you might like to come along. And, hey, it was a freakin' riot while it lasted, huh?"

Dean rubbed at the sore spot on his chest and exhaled.

"Yeah, Honesty. It was good for a while. But it's gone on too long. You gotta let me go, or pretty soon... I'm gonna be dead, babe."

Honesty grinned. "Oh heck, Deanie-boy. I wouldn't do that to ya, honey," she insisted. "Not now that we're friends. We ARE friends, right?"

Dean thought for a moment then smiled. "Yeah, I guess," he agreed.

Honesty smiled happily. She knocked back her glass and jumped to her feet.

"OK," she said. "I'm cutting you loose. So consider yourself cut loose. Now you can get on back to your handsome Sam and that regular freakin' life of yours."

"Thanks, Hon," Dean said. "It's been a blast."

~o~O~o~

Dean followed Honesty out to what was apparently HER Impala. She opened the driver's door and hesitated for a moment.

"One for the road?" she asked and, before he could protest, she stuck a smacker on Dean's lips, leaving a scarlet stain of lipstick across his face.

The redhead got in the car and started the engine. As she pulled away, leaving him standing on the rapidly dissolving sidewalk, she stuck her head out the window and laughed,

"By the way. That guy. The one with the dimples and the sexy bod? He's your brother!"

Dean had just long enough to remember the last words he had spoken to Sam and think, "Oh crap!"

~o~O~o~

Two days later Dean woke up in that familiar bed. Bobby was standing by the window with his back to him, watching the rain fall outside in the yard.

Dean coughed. "Hi, Bobby," he croaked.

Bobby came over to the bed. "And about time too," he grouched jokingly.

Dean tried to sit up, and Bobby helped him prop himself up on his pillows. Dean noticed the old guy was still sporting the remains of his nasty shiner.

"Gave us a scare, boy," the old guy commented. "Touch and go for a while."

Dean tried a weak smile. "Looks like I came out the end OK, huh?"

Bobby nodded. "Looks like it." He returned Dean's smile. "Thank whoever."

"Sorry 'bout the eye," Dean said.

Bobby chuckled. "No worries, boy," he replied. "Weren't exactly compos mentis, ya idjit."

The old hunter poured a glass of water from a jug on the nightstand and handed it to his patient, who drank it greedily.

"Sent Sam out to the store," he explained. "Boy needed a break. Been sitting by your bedside for weeks, sleeping in a chair, hardly tearing himself away for a minute. He was on his last nerve."

"He shouldn't've..." Dean began.

"Sure, he should've," Bobby interrupted. "He's your brother, boy."

Dean sighed. "So I've been told," he whispered, causing Bobby to raise a quizzical eyebrow.

Right then the crash of the front door opening announced Sam's return.

"BOBBY?" he called from downstairs.

"C'mon up here," Bobby shouted back. "Rip Van Winkle's woke up."

Sam vaulted up the stairs and appeared in the doorway breathing heavily.

"Hey, Dean," he gasped, grinning wide. "Great to see you back, dude."

Bobby patted him on the shoulder and bustled off to stow away their groceries, leaving him to have a moment with his brother. When he had gone, Sam perched on the corner of the bed.

"And don't try to tell me you're fine," he pre-empted Dean.

Dean chuckled, then after a pause he said, "Couldn't do it, Sam."

"What?" Sam asked.

"Couldn't gank Honesty, gank the troll," he clarified.

"Was afraid of that, dude. You'd started talking about falling for the bitch," he growled, a little anger betraying itself in his tone.

"Sam, I didn't mean..." Dean began, but he cut himself off.

His brother didn't need to know exactly WHO it was he had meant. It had been a mistake anyway. All this time, not knowing Sam was his brother, he had simply misinterpreted Sam's tenderness and his own feelings for him. That wasn't so strange now, was it?

"Just couldn't do it," he continued. "I know she was a fugly and all, but... we were... friends."

"Friends?" Sam repeated incredulously. "You were FRIENDS? Dude, she tried to KILL you!"

"Yeah sure, that first time," Dean waved that off. "But, truth is, I liked her. We worked good together. And, frankly, she was a lotta fun."

"Fun?!" Sam snapped indignantly. "She was a monster, Dean."

Dean shrugged. "Not so much," he said.

Sam shook his head. "So what, she just let you go? Why would she do that?"

"'Cause I asked her to," Dean answered. "She wasn't trying to kill me, dude. She just... didn't understand, I guess. It was a game to her, is all."

Sam sighed and nodded. "Well, you DID seem pretty impressed with her. As a hunter."

"Oh yeah!" Dean agreed, enthusiastically. "She was DAMN good. She woulda made a fine freakin' hunting partner, Earthside."

Then he noticed the look on Sam's face.

"If I needed one, that is, which I don't," he finished.

"Sure," Sam responded. "Guess we need to find her?"

"No," replied Dean firmly. "We don't. End of."

Sam stared at his brother for a moment. It wasn't like Dean to let a fugly go free, but then again he had never made 'friends' with one before. He nodded his head.

"Least YOU're OK, man," he said. "That's the main thing."

"Glad you think so," Dean remarked.

"You know I do, Dean," Sam replied quietly, patting his knee through the bedclothes.

Dean nodded and lay back, closing his eyes, ready to enjoy a little safe, dream-free sleep. OK, so he had gotten a little confused about Sam, but now that was cleared up. He couldn't have lived with a big gay crush anyways. Brotherly love he was good with.

Sometimes he forgot how much his brother loved him. Dean had always felt it was HIS job to care for Sam, unconditionally. He thought it didn't matter whether Sam loved him back or not. But he was wrong. It was because his brother loved him that he was still alive.

"Yeah, guess I do," he murmured.

The wound in Dean's chest was starting to itch. Sign that it was healing. Things were looking good.

~o~O~o~

Meanwhile, in some quiet no-name bar in a quiet no-name town, a ruggedly handsome, beefy guy in a hunting vest and leather pants ordered himself a straight whiskey. After throwing it back and leaving a handful of cash on the counter, he put his Stetson back on his head and went outside to face the elements.

As he paused for a moment just beyond the entrance, letting his eyes become accustomed to the poor light, he was dimly aware of a dark shape in the gloom. He wasn't expecting the gun butt that collided with the back of his head and sent him crashing into oblivion.

Next thing he knew he was sitting on a barstool, apparently back in that same bar, with a gorgeous, auburn temptress perched on the next stool.

"Drink up, Lover Boy" she chuckled, slipping off of her stool. "We got ourselves a big job on tonight. That harpy won't hunt itself!"

As she sashayed toward the door, Bubba's mind swam for a moment. He considered protesting, but then his eyes focussed on the female's voluptuous figure.

"Anything you say, darlin'," he willingly agreed, downing his jack and following her outside. "Anything you say."

He didn't know what a wild ride he was letting himself in for.

The End

* * *

A/N: So Honesty lives to ride again. Hope you enjoyed my story.


End file.
